Laboriously I hauled myself closer to the hatch and seized the wheel in my puffy gauntlets. I gave it a turn, but the only thing that turned was me. My legs swirled up off the floor and kept going till I was upside down, still clutching the wheel. I felt a complete fool: Of course, the wheel wasn’t going to turn unless I was anchored in place. Now that I was upside down, I could see, on the pool bottom, numerous metal footholds. I pulled again on the wheel and managed to get myself right way up. I hoped none of the safety divers had seen this.
Across the pool I could make out several trainees with their hatches open, Shepherd and Bronfman probably. But Tobias, I was happy to see, was ahead of all of them; he had already skimmed through.
With difficulty I managed to wedge my clunky boots into two footholds. Despite the cool air in my suit I was already drenched with sweat. Legs tensed, I turned the wheel, pulling with my whole body. It was amazing how difficult it was to do things when weightless.
Now to get inside. With one hand I grabbed a handle beside the hatch; with my other hand I pushed the hatch. Slowly it moved back and to the side.
The opening was none too large, and I felt bulky as a whale. Feetfirst or headfirst? I decided on feetfirst. Still holding on to the handle, I slipped my boots out of the footholds and managed to get my legs up and aimed at the opening. Then I pulled.
It was going well, and I was halfway through when I felt the back of my suit scraping against the hatch’s rim. It brought me to a halt. I gave another hard pull on the handle, trying to get my body clear—and felt something give at the back of my suit.
I twisted round sluggishly as I drifted through the hatchway, and saw the severed end of my umbilicus, undulating like an eel and spewing great bubbles of oxygen into the pool. I felt water on my back, then my legs and feet.
I was filling with water.
I felt it glugging coldly down each of my legs and pooling in my boots, weighing me down.
I made a grab for my umbilicus, but it was thrashing about over my head, out of reach. I tried to push off from the bottom and grab it, but my suit was already too full of water. It was up to my waist now.
I looked about wildly, but everyone I could see was still intent on their tasks, their visors turned away from me. Tobias was nowhere to be seen. Where were the safety divers? I put both hands atop my helmet, then churned the water with my arms.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Help!”
The water was at my lower ribs. Soon it would be at my neck, and then it would fill my helmet. I would drown inside my suit.
I needed to get out of it. My clumsy gauntlets clutched uselessly at my suit, and then panic mastered me, and I was shouting and raging.
All at once two safety divers were alongside me. They took hold of my suit and tried to haul me to the surface, but I was too heavy. I saw one shake his head, and the other fellow streaked up to the surface. Maybe he was going for the winch line, but it would be too late by the time he returned.
The water was at my neck, then my mouth. I tilted my face, trying to keep my nose clear. I sucked in one last breath, and then the water gurgled above my nostrils and filled the helmet to the top.
The water blurred my vision, but when my severed umbilicus suddenly jetted past, I managed to grab it. Air bubbled from its end. Despite my terror, I had a sudden, small moment of calm. I knew there was no point trying to plug the umbilicus back into the suit. It was full of water, and the water had nowhere to go.
My knife.
I clutched the umbilicus tight in one hand and with my other tugged the knife from its pouch. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold my breath. Without hesitation I plunged the blade into the neck of my suit, cutting deep through the rubber lining, in the process jabbing my own flesh.
I dropped the knife, took the umbilicus in both hands and jammed it into the gash I’d made. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it was good enough. I heard bubbling as the pressure from the hose started pushing the water out through the torn umbilicus opening at the back of my suit. I tilted my head and could see the water dropping in my helmet. I strained, lifting my face as high as I could, needing to breathe. My forehead was clear, and then my nose was clear and I snorted back air. The water dropped to my chin and stopped, but I knew I was all right now.
The other diver appeared with a line and hooked it to my suit; then I was hauled up. The moment I broke the surface, they had my helmet off, and I was hoisted, gasping and spluttering, onto the deck. Captain Walken and Chuck Shepherd caught hold of me and helped me onto a bench. Bronfman and Tobias rushed over to help.
“Are you all right?” the captain asked, taking me by the shoulders, his forehead creased. “You’re bleeding.”
I looked and saw a rivulet of watery blood running down over my silver suit. For the first time I felt a narrow throb of pain. “My neck,” I said. “I had to cut a hole.”
Shepherd swiftly opened up my suit and checked my wound. “It’s not deep. Won’t even need stitches.”
“What happened?” Captain Walken asked me.
“His umbilicus tore,” said Grendel Eriksson, hauling himself out of the pool. “Suit filled with water. He had the sense to grab his hose and cut an opening for it. Gave himself enough air to breathe.”
“That was quick thinking, Cruse,” said Shepherd.
“Lucky you didn’t slit your throat,” said Bronfman.
“I’m sorry, Matt,” said Tobias, looking pale. “I didn’t see. I was just coming out.”
“There must’ve been a flaw in the suit,” said Captain Walken, and he sounded as angry as I’d ever heard him. “It shouldn’t have torn so easily. I want all the suits checked again before anyone else goes down. See to it, Mr. Eriksson.”
“Yes, sir.”
I was grateful to the captain, for I couldn’t help feeling it was my own fault. I’d seen Tobias swishing through the hatch like a sea lion, and I’d hurried, not wanting to fall so far behind. I was careless. Shepherd gave me a sympathetic clap on the shoulder, but I wondered what he really thought behind that inscrutable expression of his.
Eriksson got the first-aid kit and patched me up. As I saw more of the trainees emerge from the pool, some holding their red boxes, I couldn’t help feeling like I’d failed.
“Don’t blame yourself, Matt,” Tobias said in the changing room. “Your gear let you down.”
I nodded, but wasn’t convinced. Underwater, I hadn’t thought clearly. I’d felt my panic, crouching like a tiger, ready to leap.
“How do you do it?” I asked him. “Concentrate down there. I saw you, the way you moved about.”
“You want to know my secret?” he asked quietly.
I nodded.
“I pretend I’m a shark.”
“Really?”
“No,” he said, laughing at the surprise on my face. “There’s no secret. I’ve spent a long time down there, that’s all. It feels like my element. Just like being in the sky doesn’t bother you. More practice, that’s all you need.”
“The helmet makes me feel like I can’t breathe.”
“I bet you were holding your breath.”
I exhaled. “I’m sure I was, on and off.”
“Don’t,” he said. “Your body has enough air. You just have to tell your mind that. Now, any tips for the parawing jumps coming up?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Just pretend you’re lighter than air.”
EVELYN KARR
It was day six, and I was standing beneath a stuttering light, trying to make a small machine from a pile of junk.
All around the room, astralnaut trainees—and Kate—stood hunched over their tables, frantically sifting through mismatched nuts and bolts and bits of scrap metal. All I had to guide me was a picture of the machine I was supposed to build, without any instructions on how to build it. I was no mechanic, but I’d made my fair share of shipboard repairs, and I reckoned I could handle this—if only I could find the right parts! I squinted and bent closer, for Grendel Eriksson was flic
king the lights on and off, to simulate dire conditions aboard our vessel.
“Twenty-five minutes left!” Eriksson called out.
It was distracting knowing Kate was here, and I wished Mr. Lunardi would stop letting her drop in. I wondered how Shepherd and Bronfman were making out, but I refused to waste time looking around—I’d let my thoughts stray enough as it was. I wanted to be first. The room was very quiet, except for the sounds of clinking metal, and the occasional curse as someone tried to fit pieces together. But the flickering lamps were like a maddening mosquito drone in my head.
“Ten minutes left!”
I was very nearly done—I just needed to find one more set of washers and—
“Finished!”
I looked up, and I think everyone else did too, for the voice didn’t come from one of the astralnauts.
“I’m all done over here, thanks!” Kate said, holding up her machine and beaming.
“Excellent, Miss de Vries,” said Grendel Eriksson. “Just leave it on the table, please. Keep working, gents, you’ve still got six minutes left!”
Everyone got back to work with fierce determination. But I must’ve been flustered—how could she beat us all like that?—because I was having trouble putting the last bit of my machine together.
“Done,” I heard Shepherd say calmly. And then, moments later—
“Me too!” That was Tobias.
“Three minutes left!” Eriksson called out. “Clock’s ticking, gents.”
With trembling hands I fastened the last bolt, checked to make sure the machine worked.
“Done!” I called out, my heart racing.
I wasn’t first, but at least I’d beat Bronfman! I could barely keep the smile off my face was I walked past him and out of the flickering room.
Outside in the corridor I found Kate chatting politely with Tobias and Shepherd, as Miss Simpkins looked on.
“Hello, Mr. Cruse,” Kate said. “You did well.”
“Not as well as you, Miss de Vries.”
“Sheer luck, really,” she said modestly. “It was a lot like a bug trap I built once.”
To my surprise, Shepherd was grinning. “You put us all to shame, Miss de Vries.” He looked at me. “Apparently she flies ornithopters too.”
“Is that right?” I said, hating that I had to pretend. I looked down at my shoes, not trusting my face.
“Maybe you can convince my fiancée to let me take her up for a spin,” Shepherd said to Kate.
Fiancée? My jealousy gave way to utter surprise. Who on earth would want to marry Chuck Shepherd?
“Oh, it’s great fun,” said Kate. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
Kate seemed to find Shepherd perfectly charming, and so he was—to her. A few other candidates trickled out from the hall, looking flushed, and then I heard Eriksson’s whistle blow. Everyone else filed out, including Bronfman, who wore an angry scowl.
“I didn’t even have the right parts,” he said, shaking his head. “Can’t do it without the right parts!”
Shepherd nodded but said nothing, fixing Bronfman with that inscrutable stare of his. I was glad to see even Bronfman got the stare sometimes.
At that moment Mr. Lunardi came around the corner with an intent look on his face. He headed straight for me. I swallowed, instantly worried he was going to give me the old heave-ho. After all, we were down to sixty-eight candidates now, and I’d just been bested by a young lady who wasn’t even training to be an astralnaut.
“Ah, good,” Mr. Lunardi said, smiling. “Mr. Cruse, Miss de Vries, I need to talk to you both. Will you come with me, please?”
Tobias looked at me strangely as I turned to follow Mr. Lunardi down the hall. Probably he was wondering if he’d ever see me again.
“We’ve hit a snag,” Mr. Lunardi said quietly, “and I was hoping you two would help me out.”
“Yes, of course,” I said, and Kate nodded. It didn’t sound like I was about to get cut from the program, and I started to relax.
“One of the experts we’ve invited on the expedition is having second thoughts. Evelyn Karr, the photographer.”
I’d certainly heard of her. She was famous for her brooding pictures of rain forests and Indian totems and villages. She was also an accomplished journalist, and her stories and photos appeared in magazines and newspapers the world over.
“Really?” Kate said, enthralled. “I’m a huge admirer of her work! She’s coming?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Lunardi. “She seemed agreeable at first, but she’s notoriously temperamental. Right now she’s saying she has no wish to go to outer space.”
“Can’t you just find someone else?” I asked.
Mr. Lunardi shook his head. “The Minister of Air has his heart set on her, you see. He wants a Canadian, and he wants someone with an international reputation. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone of Miss Karr’s caliber. She’s our reporter and photographer both. She’s also the only other woman on the expedition.”
Kate looked stricken. “Meaning that if Miss Karr doesn’t go, I’ll have no chaperone—and can’t go.”
“I certainly won’t be going,” said Miss Simpkins.
“We know, Marjorie,” Kate said.
“You couldn’t force me aboard a spaceship for the world,” the chaperone added.
“No one’s asking you to go,” Kate said, silencing Miss Simpkins with an angry look.
“Can’t you offer Miss Karr more money?” I suggested.
“Tried that,” said Lunardi. “Money’s of no interest to her. What I want is for you two to talk to her.”
I blinked. “You think we can convince her to come?”
Lunardi nodded. “She doesn’t much care for old men in suits,” he said. “Last time we spoke, she called me a parasitic little weevil.”
Kate sniffed. “How absurd.”
“Thank you, Miss de Vries,” said Mr. Lunardi.
“Weevils aren’t parasites at all,” Kate explained. “They’re a snout-headed beetle. Quite destructive to crops, but technically not parasitic. She could call you a weevil, or a parasite, but certainly not both.”
I stared at Kate, horrified by her tactlessness, then back at Mr. Lunardi. To my huge relief, he chuckled.
“Well,” the magnate said, “if I had to choose, I suppose I’d take the weevil.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry, Mr. Lunardi,” Kate said, blushing, “I didn’t mean to suggest you were either. It just really annoys me when people confuse their species.”
“You’re quite a species yourself, Miss de Vries,” I told her. “No one could mistake you.”
“How kind of you to say so, Mr. Cruse.”
“Miss Karr hates most people as a rule,” said Lunardi, “but she likes the sound of you two.”
“She’s…heard of me?” Kate asked, clearly pleased.
Lunardi nodded. “I told her about how you nearly electrocuted Sir Hugh Snuffler. Miss Karr thought it wickedly amusing. And, Mr. Cruse, she was very interested in your pirate adventures. I’m hoping you two can charm her into signing on. We’ll go visit her tomorrow in Victoria. I thought we’d take her to the Empress for lunch. Who doesn’t like lunch at the Empress, heh?”
“Victoria?” Miss Simpkins said.
Mr. Lunardi turned to the chaperone. “Just a hop across the puddle. But don’t worry, Miss Simpkins, we won’t be interrupting your Sunday plans. Mrs. Lunardi will be joining us, so Kate will be well taken care of. I’m sure her parents won’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Kate said.
Sunday was my only day off, and I’d told Mom and my sisters I’d spend it with them. But how could I refuse Mr. Lunardi? And I certainly didn’t want Kate to lose her place because of Miss Karr.
“Excellent,” said Lunardi. “Let’s meet down at the marina at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
It wasn’t often I got to travel by boat. There simply wasn’t much call for them anymore as passenger vessels, not when you co
uld sail the skies faster. But it was a wonderful feeling, skimming over the Georgia Strait on Otto Lunardi’s elegant yacht. Off to starboard were the Gulf Islands. The Olympic Mountains rose on our southern horizon. I began to understand why mariners felt such passion for the sea.
Mr. Lunardi had a small crew, but he liked to pilot the boat himself, and he was up on the bridge, a captain’s hat sitting jauntily on his bald head. Mrs. Lunardi was conferring with the steward about some new décor for the main cabin, and Kate and I were left alone to enjoy the sunshine on the afterdeck.
“It’s so nice to be away,” said Kate with a contented sigh. “Practically everywhere I go in Lionsgate City there’s someone who knows my family. I feel like a lab mouse. All their silly questions about what I’m up to in Paris, and when I’m coming back home for good. And have I called on so-and-so, or seen what’s-his-name yet?”
“Has your future husband come calling?” I asked jokingly, but I watched her carefully.
“Who?” she said in surprise. “Oh, you mean George Sanderson.”
“I thought his name was James.”
She winced. “Right. James. He just looks like such a George to me. Gosh, I hope I haven’t been calling him George to his face. And yes, he does come calling. Every day, actually.”
“Really?” I said. This was alarming.
Kate looked at me sternly. “What’s all this about me digging up corpses in Paris?”
I shrugged. “Just a bit of fun. I thought I’d scare him off for you.”
“Well, it’s done the opposite. He seems awfully keen on me. He keeps telling me these ghastly stories about freaks of nature, and dead things brought to life.”
“I can’t believe it backfired,” I muttered. “He comes every day?”